


Can't Go To Hell (If We're Already There)

by Coileddragon



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010), Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Begging, Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, Dry Sex, Explicit Referenced Child Abuse, Freddy is Mean and the Entity eats it up, Gaslighting, Impalement, M/M, Manipulation, Rape, Snuff, Undealt with Trauma, gut spill, repressed trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 18:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18183923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coileddragon/pseuds/Coileddragon
Summary: The Entity's Nightmare was far from an ideal purgatory for Quentin, but at least here he was safe in his dreams and Krueger couldn't hurt Nancy. But, in an unfair world run by an unfair Entity, it was only a matter of time before Freddy got him on his own.Warning: This is highly explicit in terms of referenced child sexual abuse, gore, and torture. Read the Tags.





	Can't Go To Hell (If We're Already There)

Quentin jolted awake, springing upright with reaction time honed from living in a nightmare long before being pulled into  _ the  _ Nightmare. Where was he? Last he remembered, he had been at the campfire with a few other survivors when he’d drifted off… Had the Entity pulled him into a trial? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the so-called god of this world had pulled that one on him. But a scowl formed at his face when he realized where he was.

He had been laying in the grass, just outside of Badham Preschool. The green stalks were wet with a permanent dew, the air humid in the wake of a morning that would never come. Pulling himself up, he looked around for the others, wiping his damp hands on his jeans. So far, all was quiet, not even the song of Freddy’s lullaby nearby. 

Good. That burnt ass fucker can stay far away from him…

Quentin quietly leaped over the fence and into the parking lot, looking for the generator by the cars. He didn’t find it.

His brows furrowed in confusion; a generator  _ always  _ showed up here. It was the one constant in this map. He’d known. He’d been here way more times than he ever wanted to. Swallowing dryly, he considered his options. The others shouldn’t be too far, and maybe this was just a fluke. Maybe the Entity was trying to spice things up.

His eyes roamed over the decrepit preschool, debating going inside. Sometimes generators showed up in the houses around the school, or even in the middle of the streets, but he knew of two that typically showed up inside. But entering the building always filled him with apprehension. Fear.  _ Memories _ .

It wasn’t as if he’d had time to reconcile with the new traumatic past that he’d been rudely reminded of when he and Nancy had tracked down this place and killed Krueger. Because it had turned out the bastard hadn’t even died, and there was no time for wallowing in trauma that you’d forgotten when a demon who could follow you in your dreams was constantly on your tail.

And in here, in the Entity, in  _ this  _ Nightmare, there wasn’t time for anything. He’d kept the memories at bay with sheer force alone, noting that they only really plagued him during the rare moments of shut eye he managed to steal away by the fires and between trials. They were faint, whispers of a much darker voice, and they always left him waking up shaking.

Every time he’d have to face Badham, however, the memories threatened to break the locks that he’d so forcefully put into place. He could feel them now, clamoring against the steel door inside of him, leaving dents in the metal as they pounded and demanded to be heard. 

He moved into the school, fist clenched. In his mind, he told himself he’d be fine, that he’d been fine before and that now wouldn’t be any different. Besides, he had to find a generator so he could get out of here as quickly as possible…

The inner corridors were as daunting as the exterior building. The lights that remained flickered absently, sometimes stilling long enough to provide a beam of white over the cracked floors and walls. Letters that were once bright spelled out ‘Badham’, and children's drawings lined the walls. The memories were creeping as his eyes settled on one picture for too long, but he tore away and moved towards the classrooms.

Still no generator, not here. Just tiny tables that barely went up to his knees and even smaller, plastic chairs to accompany them. The chalkboard at the end of the room had something written on it, though. Usually… it didn’t. Dangerous curiosity tempted him forward, feeling his heart beat in his ears. He was sure it was just his own heart, pumping blood rhythmically as his pulse quickened in all too familiar fear; Freddy’s only announcement was a children's lullaby, hummed indistinctly until he pulled you asleep.

As he crept closer, Quentin’s eyes went wide.

Scrawled in large, white chalk letters, read ‘Welcome Back, Quentin’.

Alright, fuck this, chicken shit or not he was going to find someone else and stick to them. He couldn’t do this, not right now. 

Turning heel he went to move for the door, only to hit a wall of person.

“Awe, leaving so soon, Quentin?” Came the undeniable voice, the one Quentin had been fearing. He pulled back only to have Freddy grab at both his arms and hold him in place.

There’d been no warning, no song, no lulling to sleep, the world still looked whole, in tact… Which meant.

“This is a dream.” Quentin stated, jaw tight as he looked into Freddy’s face. He smiled, despite himself. “And that means you can’t hurt me.”

That was one of the incredibly rare upsides to being in this hellhole. Freddy could - and did - visit Quentins dreams here, but the Entity wouldn’t allow him to physically harm Quentin. That was reserved for the trials. 

Freddy smiled right back, the melted face appearing even more ominous as a chuckle left his mouth. Quentin’s faltered, ice cold fear sliding up his spine.

“Yes, and… No.” he replied to each question in turn.

He didn’t wait for Quentin to process what any of that meant before he was spun around and shoved against the chalkboard. The iron tang of blood filled his mouth as his inner cheek split open, Freddy’s non-clawed hand holding his head in place. Quentin tried to turn back, Freddy just laughing and holding him there.

“Th-then how-?”

“I spent a lot of time earning favor of the  _ thing  _ that runs the show here, just for this one chance to get to play with you, Quentin. Just me and you. Aren’t you excited? You used to loooove you and me time.”

“Shut up, Krueger!” 

“You’re not in the position to be calling shots.” 

Freddy pulled him away from the chalkboard and threw him into the table and chairs. He bit his tongue to hold back from crying out, the small pieces of wood and plastic digging into his sides. Quentin wasn’t about to give Freddy an ounce of that pleasure. 

“But you could try begging.” Krueger suggested with a dry chuckle.

“Fuck you.” Quentin hissed, spitting out blood and trying to pull himself up right. He could feel the tender bits of flesh that were bruising from the impact, the pain a background buzz compared to the roar of fear and anger.

“Is that an invitation?” the killer purred in reply, reaching down pulling Quentin to his feet before he could scramble away.

“In your dreams.” It came out as a snarl, Quentin trying to pull away from Freddy’s grip.

“Oh, but it is my dream.”

Quentin found himself spun around again and released, but before he could run or even adjust his step, a sudden pain punched through him. Literally. It hadn’t registered to his brain, the entirety of the pain, but his head slowly dropped to where he could feel the pressure of something having been forced through his abdomen. Any color left in his face fell suddenly as he made out the four-clawed hand that had cleanly pushed through him. Blood was pouring from the wound, bits of fleshy offal clinging to the blades as they had been ripped out of him.

He whimpered, the pain climbing like the wall of a tidal wave. When it crashed into him, the world started to spin. He felt his knees give, the nauseous spinning of the planet at his feet throwing him off balance. A firm hand, the one not going through his stomach, grabbed his upper arm and held him up. His vision tunneled in flickers of blackness, so temptingly close to passing out, to release from the wailing agony. But as quickly as it had flickered into view, it was gone, replaced with the sharp and heightened clarity of the claw that was wiggling its fingers inside of him. 

“Oh, no, I wasn’t about to let you get off that easy.” Freddy crooned, pressing himself close to Quentins back and pushing his hand further through. “I worked very hard to get this alone time, and you’re going to experience every moment of it.”

Quentin wanted to speak, wanted to scream, to do something besides hover there in a state of in between. The tunnel vision came back, his head drooping suddenly with the fresh wave nausea.  _ Shock _ , he reminded himself,  _ my body is going into shock _ . He remembered the feeling before, the in between, the way his vision tunneled and threatened to pull him into darkness. It had been when he broke his leg during his freshman year and the doctors had to set it before putting it in the brace. He’d almost passed out.

But now… Now he wasn’t allowed to, as badly as he wanted to slip into that comfortable darkness.

Freddy’s hand pushed further through, Quentin could feel his arm stirring the severed remains of his insides as they squelched wetly. Instinctively he reached a shaking hand up and clamped it on Freddy’s glove. It was wet, hot and slick with blood and bile and who knew what else. The killer was leaning up against him, Quentin could feel his breath tickle his ear as his lips ghosted close.

“You always were such a go getter,” he chuckled. Quentin whimpered as he pushed through, Freddy’s elbow now through him and his own hand falling aside limply. “You wanted so badly to take initiative, to prove yourself. Were always jealous of the other kids if they got my attention.”

“S...ssstop.” Quentin slurred, pain and blood heavy on his lips.

“And you always were so easy to convince. A natural born people pleaser. Was it the busy father? The absent mother? What made you so…  _ hungry  _ for attention.” he continued, ignoring the plea.

Freddy’s tongue came out, licking the outer shell of Quentins ear. He raised his clawed hand to capture Quentin’s drooping head. The boy could feel the wet blood mark his cheeks, eyes hazily and warily watching the sheers that tipped his fingers as they got close to his flesh.

Fingertips holding his chin and cheek, Krueger tilted his head, Quentin easily following like a doll. Freddy’s breath rattled inside his smoke ruined lungs as he inhaled and exhaled, almost decadently taking in Quentins scent before planting hungry kisses on his neck.

“I could get you to do anything I wanted. Do you remember, Quentin?” Freddy said barely above a whisper with his lips still pressed to the side of his neck. His non-clawed hand released Quentins arm, snaking around and working deftly to undo his belt. Quentin opened his mouth to protest, only making a noise of strangled pain as it escaped his throat. Tears had welled in his eyes now, hot and unbidden they rolled down his cheeks.

He didn’t want to remember.

“I know you remember. I know you’ve been trying not to.” Freddy spoke. “Do you need me to remind you, hmm?” He forced Quentins head to nod and pulled his own head back slightly. “‘Oh, yes, mister Krueger!’” he chuckled, imitating a higher pitch voice mockingly. Quentin shook his head weakly.

“You would love when I took you to the secret room. You’d make a spectacle of it as I took your hand in mine and led you down to my bedroom.”

Quentin sobbed, saliva bubbling over his lips. Freddy was undoing the button and zipper of his jeans now. He reached up to stop him, hands shaking and numb. Freddy clicked his tongue, his claws sliding down to his throat and easily splitting the soft skin as they dug in. Did Quentin care about dying at this point? No, he’d most certainly prefer it. 

But he knew this wasn’t a threat on his life. Freddy would keep him alive as long as he wanted to toy with him. This was a threat of more pain. He dropped his hand.

“Good boy. You always did like when I told you that. You remember? ‘Good boy, Quentin, you almost fit the head of my cock in your mouth’. ‘Good boy, Quentin, you won’t tell anyone if I take a few pictures’.”

“P-please… stop.” Quentin begged, vision distorted with tears. His jeans were being tugged down now.

“You never wanted me to stop before.” Freddy said, almost incredulously. “You used to ask me, so boldly, so pointedly, to suck your little prick. You didn’t understand why, but it felt so good, didn't it? You loved my tongue and mouth on you.”

The memories had torn the steel door down, blasted it off the hinges. If he still had a stomach intact, it would be twisting with uncomfortable arousal at such sickening and ancient memories. Tinged with a fuzzy halo, he could see it from his point of view, his tiny body held by an unburnt Krueger, his adult head between Quentins legs.

“I won’t lie, you were always my second favorite. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Quentin wanted to be sick, breathing hitching as he tried to take in air faster. His lungs were aching, blood from his abdomen rising and getting stuck inside of them. He coughed, the violent action spraying blood from his mouth and making his whole body sway.

Krueger pushed them up to the chalkboard, Quentin's body shaking as he cried out in pain. His cock was being palmed by Freddy, the tainted memories rising like a mental bile and stirring a confusing reaction. He could feel himself getting hard, the clawed now falling to rest around his collar.

“Nancy always tasted better. A shame you never got to experience that. Her soft, hairless lips... her little pussy was always so perfect.” Krueger purred. He began to grab at Quentin’s erection, roughly rubbing his shaft with another dry laugh. “Seems like old Fred can still get you excited, can’t he? You remember how nice it used to be? Our special time together, hmm?”

“M...monster.” Quentin spat, choking on any other words he wanted to say as Freddy grabbed at his erection roughly.

“Oh? _ I’m _ not the one getting off on my own sexual abuse.” 

Freddy pulled down Quentins boxers, his half hard erection twitching.

“That there’s your proof. You want this, Quentin. Just like you wanted it when you were little.”

Krueger's hand pulled away, Quentin leaning into the wall as the world gave another rough spin. He should’ve been dead a while ago now, his extremities feeling numb and cold and his face ghostly pale. How much blood had he lost? 

And what was Krueger doing now?

He didn’t have to wait long for an answer, feeling something hard poking between his ass cheeks. 

“I always dreamed about being able to fuck you kids.” Freddy said wistfully, resting his hand on Quentins ass and squeezing. “Too much risk, though. I had a good set up at the preschool. Till you little shits opened your mouths, of course. But now? Well, at least I get my second favorite.”

It wasn’t till he felt the cock press against his asshole that the cogs started to turn in Quentin’s pain drunk mind, Krueger pushing his way in without preparation or warning. Quentin cried out at the new intrusion, back arching and head thrown back like he was struck by lightning. More pain wasn’t new, but this was different entirely, it was a unique kind of violation. His hole ached as Krueger continued to push in till he was to the hilt.

Quentin’s breathing became labored whines as he pressed both hands against the chalkboard to hold himself up. Krueger’s clawed hand was retracting from his throat, easily slicing through Quentin’s shirt and splitting flesh as it traveled down his chest. 

“I wonder if you were this tight when you were five…”

Any retort had been lost, Quentin wheezing painfully as the world spun again. He heaved dryly, but there was no stomach to push upward. Instead the hole which Kruegers arm occupied made another wet noise, painfully squeezing blood and bile down his body instead.

Still lodged deep inside of Quentin, Freddy’s claws hand came down and wrapped around the younger mans cock. Quentin made a noise of protest, his vision going spotty and letting his forehead fall against the chalkboard. He refused to look down, knowing that the wet and bloody hand was stroking him almost gently. 

“You really are beautiful like this, Quentin.” Freddy whispered, stroking his shaft and careful not to let his claws cut the organ to ribbons. Quentin could only reply with a sob.

Freddy started to move now, his actions strained as he pulled back and shoved back inside dryly. Quentin had clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms so hard they were numb. He felt catatonic, unable to move his body or even speak, his mind buzzing with the constant hum of agony and intrusion. The tears were a constant, joining the blood and offal that had fallen between his legs. 

He just wanted it to be done.

A small moan broke his lips as Freddy’s wet glove ran down his cock, a noise that surprised him. In the sea of pain, even the most awful source of pleasure was something he couldn’t deny. He hated himself for it.

He hated the chuckle it rouse from Freddy even more.

“You like that, hmm? Like the hard and heavy stuff, don’t you?”

Quentin shook his head weakly, but his knees buckled when Freddy roughly thumbed the slit at the head of his cock.

“You can’t lie to me, Quentin. I know you just love this. Just like you loved it before.” Freddy affirmed, fucking Quentin while getting him off. “How badly did you want to think I wasn’t the bad guy? You felt mad at Nancy, didn’t you? At your father, at her mother, for claiming that ‘poor Mister Krueger did such bad things’. Because you liked them. They weren’t bad to  _ you _ .”

“Stop.” Quentin croaked, an uncomfortable cold tingling down the back of his neck. 

Memories. Memories of being mad at Nancy for telling. Memories of being so small and so  _ angry  _ that they were never going back to Badham, and that it was Nancy’s fault. 

Mister Krueger hadn’t been bad, he’d been  _ good _ , why couldn’t  _ she  _ see that?

That was before he’d forgotten her, and Badham, and everyone and everything.

Krueger was panting roughly now, his hand moving in a more jerky rhythm as he fucked Quentin faster. He thrust more roughly, his fingers digging into Quentins hip. Each thrust, Quentin felt him hit something deep inside of him, gasping despite himself.

“Yeah, you feel that? Bet you fucking love this.” Krueger growled, thrusting harder.

“Please…”

He began to stroke Quentin more languidly, slowly drawing it out.

“Please… let me… go…” Quentin managed.

“Oh, is that all you want?” Krueger asked. He instantly let go of Quentins cock, his claws sliding against one another sharply. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

Quentin whined at the sudden lack of touch, his cock throbbing. The tiny bit of good he was getting was suddenly gone, the pain and memories riding him and his head bobbing as a fresh wave of nausea rolled over him.

“Want to try again?” Krueger asked coyly, shoving roughly into him again.

“Please don’t stop.” He croaked, black hate growing for how badly he wanted to ask.

“‘Please don’t stop’... who?”

Quentin’s lower lip trembled, knowing what he wanted to hear. He didn’t want to say it. But the longer he waited, the more his cock was aching.

“I’m waiting, Quentin.”

“Please… Don’t stop… Mister Krueger.” Quentin spat out. 

“Good boy, Quentin.”

He wrapped his hand around Quentins cock again. Freddy’s movements were rough and quick, Quentin coming in seconds after he had been touched again. He choked on his own noises of pleasure, strings of cum lacing the chalkboard in front of him as his body tensed. Pain and pleasure cancelled each other out for the briefest of moments.

The moment passed as Krueger came in Quentins ass, pain and self loathing washing over Quentin. He panted, forehead damp with a cold sweat and pressed to the chalkboard. Krueger pulled his hand out of Quentin’s abdomen with another wet noise, Quentin staring down at the sight of his intestines, severed open, dangling out. Krueger pulling out of him made him feel a sudden hollowness, cum oozing from his ass.

When Freddy let go of his hips, he slid to the knees almost fluidly, finally feeling the familiar calling of his own life slipping from its shell. The whispers of the Entity were beginning to rise around him, Freddy doing up his pants.

Krueger reached down and pulled Quentin by his hair to turn him around. He was too spent to fight, exhausted and finally released from the magic that held him alive and dying for Freddy to toy with. The killer seemed to be appraising his work, before his dark eyes settled on Quentin’s neck. 

“No one can save you here, Quentin. Not ‘God’-” he reached down and grabbed Quentin’s necklace, the leather cord snapping with a rough tug. “-and not Nancy.”

Her name came out in an almost feral growl. The smug pride that spread across his face had been replaced with a cloud of anger. There was a shred of pleasure in Quentin’s heavy lidded eyes as he soaked in what it meant. At least here, Nancy was free from Krueger. He’d never get his favorite, and he  _ hated  _ Quentin for it.

Freddy patted Quentins cheek, falling back to a more calm expression before he turned to leave.

“Don’t forget to come and visit more often, Quentin. I always like spending time with you.”

The voice mingled with that of a memory, the same words from the same man just ages apart. Quentin was silent, his breathing becoming slower and slower as he felt coldness overtake the pain. The pinprick feeling of the Entity’s claws pulling him away gave Quentin a sense of relief, calm that, at least for now, it - this - was over.


End file.
